Passion Became Doom
by Aemilia Rose
Summary: A tragic love story that is almost entirely overlooked. Rating for violence and angst in later chapters. Epilogue finally added.
1. Dawn of Sorrow

This is the first time I have attempted to write a Silmarillion story, and surprising enough, I choose a subject that takes up less than three pages of the book. (And just so you know, some of the chapters will contain quotes from the book.) Although it is gone into hardly any detail at all, and dips only shallowly into the emotional aspect of it, it is interestingly one of the stories from the Silmarillion that really caught me in a way only few stories have, LOTR or otherwise. Also though, because of the vagueness of the story in general, I am able to make some assumptions to further advance the plot I have in mind, which will make writing the story a lot easier.  
  
In case you wanted to know, this story is mentioned at the very beginning of the tale of Beren and Luthien, so if you want to find book reference, that's where I would direct you.  
  
But for now, I direct you read and review, but most of all enjoy the tale of Gorlim the Unhappy and his wife Eilinel.  
  
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It has been told that Barahir would not forsake Dorthonion, and there Morgoth pursued him to his death, until at last there remained to him only twelve companions. Now the forest of Dorthonion rose southward into mountainous moors; and in the east of those highlands there lay a lake, Tarn Aeluin, with wild heaths about it, and all that land was pathless and untamed, for even in the days of the long peace none had dwelt there. But the waters of Tarn Aeluin were held in reverence, for they were clear and blue by day and by night were a mirror for the stars; and it was said that Melian herself had hallowed that water in the days of old. Thither Barahir and his outlaws withdrew, and there made their lair, and Morgoth could not discover it. But the rumor of the deeds of Barahir and his companions went far and wide; and Morgoth commanded Sauron to find them and destroy them . . .  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
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It was morning at Tarn Aeluin, and what a morning it was. It was unmistakable now why the stories deemed the lake hallowed by Melian the Maia herself. As the black net of the night sky gave way to a cloudless blue sky, the mirrored images of the stars melted into a myriad of pools of light reflected back at the rising sun. The splendor of the revered lake was only lost on one.  
  
With the rising of the morning son, also came the rising of twelve men who braved the wilderness of Dorthonion to seek refuge on the shores. Warriors all, Tarn Aeluin they made their home, hiding from the vengeance of Morgoth the Dark Lord, who sought to find and destroy them for their efforts to keep Dorthonion free from the stain of darkness. Their leader was Barahir, and they were his companions.  
  
Slowly, they crept from their tents to greet the Sun. Some began to work at lighting a fire for breakfast, while others took part in other various chores to begin the day, but not one.  
  
Gorlim, son of Angrim, sat on a rock at the shores of the lake, staring listlessly at the spectacle before him.  
  
Another man, Beren, the son of the leader, noticed his companion's withdrawal from the group. Covering his concerned frown with a cheerful smile, he came over and sat beside him. "Why are you up so early, Gorlim? I did not even notice that you were already up." Beren glanced to the side and saw Gorlim's blank expression, his concern growing deeper when Gorlim did not answer. His smile now disappeared, he lowered his voice and added earnestly, "You did not sleep again last night did you, my friend?"  
  
Again he was met with silence.  
  
Beren sighed; the fact that Gorlim's expression had changed slightly as if he was trying to hold back tears did not escape his notice. Gorlim did not speak for fear of inadvertently letting loose those suppressed tears, and the humiliation he would suffer if he, a grown man hardened by battles and death, cried like a child. Understanding this, Beren simply put a friendly hand on Gorlim's shoulder for support, waiting for him to be ready to verbalize his distress.  
  
Finally, biting his lip as he did so, Gorlim spoke quietly. "I miss Eilinel." It was all he needed to say. Beren nodded, squeezing his shoulder slightly in reassurance, but Gorlim was not done yet. "I haven't seen her for a long time. I came with your father after the battle wanting to help him defend Dorthonion, not knowing that by doing so I would be separated from her."  
  
Beren nodded again, his expression somber. Gorlim loved his wife very much, even more than the land he wished to protect. When he joined Barahir and his companions, he had hoped to be able to keep one foot in each life, and for a while he could, leaving now and then to go spend time with the woman he loved. But when the danger of the group's situation increased, his visits with Eilinel grew few and far between. Then, when Barahir announced that leaving would endanger the twelve men, they ceased completely. That was unfortunate, for the distance between him and his loved one had begun to wear away his spirit.  
  
Beren stood and turned around and headed back towards the camp.  
  
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"Father, I think you should let him go back to his wife for at least a little while."  
  
Beren stood facing his father, speaking with vehemence, determined to aid his friend. But Barahir would not be so easily shaken.  
  
"No, Beren," he stated firmly. "His leaving now would endanger the lives of the other men, and I could not allow that."  
  
Clenching his teeth, Beren replied, "But don't you understand? He's miserable!"  
  
Barahir shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry, my son, but I just cannot endanger anyone's lives."  
  
"Father, you do not understand!" Beren raised his voice, trying so very hard to get his point across to help his friend. "You are already endangering a life; HIS life! Haven't you seen him? He hasn't slept in days!"  
  
Barahir eyed his son uneasily. "Are you sure of this?"  
  
"Yes!" Beren all but shouted. "He's been sitting out there by the lake every night, just staring into space. I'm worried about him Father! This restlessness and anxiety is going to catch up to him next time we go out to fight. It won't be long before he drowns in his homesickness! Father I will not let that happen to him! Would you want that to happen? Would you?" Beren was breathing heavily, and staring defiantly into his Father's eyes. Barahir locked on to his son's gaze intently, but did not reply.  
  
"Beren took a deep breath. "Father, please. For my friend. Let him go to his wife."  
  
Once he looked down for a moment, contemplating his son's words, Barahir looked up, his face softened, showing the heart he had under his stern exterior.  
  
"For your friend, I will take the risk, though I am worried that something evil may come of it."  
  
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Gorlim stepped lightly through the woods of Dorthonion. Finally he was going back to Eilinel! When Beren had told him of his father's decision, Gorlim's dismal mood had evaporated quicker than the joy of the news could fully settle in. He had stared at Beren uncomprehendingly for several long moments, while running over in his mind an image of his wife's beautiful face: Her long, braided red hair, her blue eyes, her smooth skin.  
  
Whistling, the man pushed aside the branches and plants and made his way towards his home. Home, a lovely word, but it was more than a word. It was a feeling that he had lacked even when with his friend's and companions at Tarn Aeluin. For him, home was where his love dwelt.  
  
"And I'm coming home!" Gorlim said aloud in his elation, throwing all caution to the winds, laughing to his heart's content. He was almost there! He knew the way well, and the land became more than merely familiar. He simply had to go up this hill, and he would enter the field were his house was built, and where his Eilinel was waiting for him.  
  
Gorlim began to run. Almost there! Only a few more steps and the trees would thin away to the long expanse of grass! Only a few more steps and he would see his . . .  
  
Gorlim stopped dead in his tracks, horror written on his face. The trees had thinned away, and the field stretched out before him. He took a few shaky steps forward, toward the house . . . HIS house . . . or what it was once . . .  
  
The door had been torn form its hinges, and lay smashed upon the ground, beside ragged remains of the window curtains. Gorlim, too shocked to be able to react fully, watched as the wind picked up one of these ripped cloths and brought it up over the roof, which had caved in between cracked walls. His eyes were drawn to the earth, seeing bits and pieces of shattered glass strewn about and . . .  
  
His breath caught in his throat, and he choked down a sob. There, amid the ruins and debris, lay a small silver bracelet. The very same bracelet he had given his dear Eilinel.  
  
Gorlim, with a trembling hand, untangled the small chain from the wreckage, and stared at it, as if afraid to admit to himself what he saw. Suddenly, he jumped to his feet.  
  
"Eilinel!" He cried, hoping against hope to hear a reply, but he heard nothing but creaking of battered wood in the breeze. "Eilinel!" He tore his way into the remains of his home, completely smashing anything that came into his way. He searched every room, every corner of his house, but found no trace of his love. Despairing, he let the tears flow from his eyes unchecked.  
  
"EILINEL!" He finally choked in anguish. His legs, no longer able to bear his weight, collapsed beneath him, and he fell amid the slivers of broken glass, not caring that the shards cut into him. He lay there, sobbing with every ounce of his strength amid the ruins of his home, and the ruins of his heart.  
  
TBC 


	2. A Drowning Spirit

Okay! I am back, and updating sooner than usual, so don't think that I'll be able to update daily for a long time! But, as long as I have the time, and am in the right state of mind, I might as well write.  
  
Thank you Staggering Wood-Elf and purple-sorceress for the reviews! Feedback is graciously accepted, and helps me significantly in getting into my "writing mood."  
  
All right, enough rambling, and on with the story! Enjoy!  
  
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Now among the companions of Barahir was Gorlim son of Angrim. His wife was named Eilinel, and their love was great, ere evil befell. But Gorlim returning from the war upon the marches found his house plundered and forsaken, and his wife gone; whether slain or taken he knew not . . . .  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
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When Beren saw Gorlim returning to the hidden refuge by Tarn Aeluin, he knew, even before catching a glimpse of haunted eyes, that something was horribly wrong.  
  
It had been the evening on the day following the date of Gorlim's departure, while the company was preparing to plan to scour the surrounding forests of Dorthonion and cleanse it of wandering Orc bands that threatened the land. It was the reason they were there in the first place, and Tarn Aeluin only posed as a lair for the twelve men, not a place for them to spend the whole of their time. Pressing deeds awaited, and Dorthonion was not free, no matter how much peace the band had gained for it. The Dark Lord may be hunting for them, but they would not forsake their task.  
  
Being short one, the eleven members were seated in a circle in the center of the camp. Maybe it was by chance that Beren was peculiarly uneasy, sitting on the outskirts of the discussion, or perhaps he had some sixth sense that forewarned him of his friend's suffering. But for whatever reason, Beren, being the farthest from the group and closest to the edge of the wild, was the first to witness Gorlim's return.  
  
Although, he almost missed it entirely. As silent as a fox on the hunt, Gorlim had treaded through the border between forest and clearing, stealthily making his way towards the dwelling the company had put together.  
  
When Beren looked up and saw a dark figure creeping from the trees, he silently motioned to the others, alerting them to the potential threat. The fire was immediately doused, throwing the camp into shadows.  
  
Beren could barely make out his father's shape, motioning for Beren and two others to follow him. The four of them quietly took their places in ambush positions around the mysterious figure. They would wait for their leader's signal, and only seek to trap and detain the intruder, for they wished to bring no harm on him if he be innocent, or if he be not, and rather an enemy who chose to give up the fight, they would not bring harm upon one who laid down his arms. That did not mean, though, that they would be easy on whoever it was. Their lair by Tarn Aeluin was secret, and they could not afford for that secret to get out.  
  
Barahir gave the signal, and the four of them pounced on the figure, tying his limbs with thick rope. When he had been successfully caught, Barahir pushed him down to the ground with a foot on his back, and a sword to his throat.  
  
"Who are you," he hissed threateningly, "and what business do you have in our lands?"  
  
The only response was a weak moan, but at the sound, Beren shoved his father out of the way and dropped to one knee beside the person.  
  
"Gorlim," he said urgently. "Say something Gorlim!" When Beren heard no more from the limp form of his friend than a choked sob, he turned to one of his companions. "Radhruin, go fetch a light, quick!"  
  
While the man quickly left to do Beren's bidding, Barahir knelt down beside his son. "What is wrong with him Beren? Is he injured?"  
  
Beren could only shake his head in frustration. "I . . . don't know." He shook Gorlim gently. "Gorlim, please speak. Tell us, are you hurt?" Again, Gorlim did not speak. Radhruin returned with a small lamp, and held it up so all could see Gorlim clearly. Both Beren and his father gasped at what they saw.  
  
The clothes that were normally worn, but well kept, were ripped and muddy, and leaves and twigs were tangled in his hair. His face was pale; dark smudges beneath his staring, bloodshot eyes. Beren pulled a cloth from the pocket of his coat, and wiped beads of sweat from Gorlim's brow, while checking the rest of him for any wounds. Except for several tiny scratches and bruises, there seemed to be nothing wrong with him.  
  
Beren took his friend's face in both hands and forced the crazed eyes to look directly into his, as Barahir and Radhruin cut the cords that were bound around him. "Gorlim," he said steadily. "I know that something is wrong, but we will never be able to know what unless you tell us. Do you hear me, Gorlim?"  
  
The pale face nodded slowly, the wildness in his eyes starting to fade. Beren sighed in relief. "Good. Now we need to get back to the tents with the others. Can you stand?" Gorlim nodded again, and with some support from Beren and his father, he was pulled to his feet.  
  
He stood there numbly for a moment, and then suddenly gasped in a strangled whimper, and collapsed to ground, out cold.  
  
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When awareness returned to him, Gorlim found himself lying on a makeshift bed in one of the tents. He blinked, bringing the world into focus, to find Beren bending over him.  
  
"Beren?" he said in a cracked whisper, astonished to find that he could speak.  
  
Beren tried to give Gorlim a reassuring smile. "Yes, it's me. We were all worried when you fell."  
  
Gorlim simply sent him a puzzled look.  
  
Beren's smile faded. "You don't remember?"  
  
Gorlim lay still for a moment, trying to center his still-fuzzy mind. Fell? Did he get wounded in battle? No, he had been hurt many times before, and he would have been able to tell if he was in pain, which he was not. What then? What could have caused him to collapse? Wait . . . where had he been before he came back? He remembered Beren telling him good news and then . . .  
  
The memory of the destruction of his home rushed back to his mind in a tidal wave so fast that the room began to spin and Gorlim felt his mind beginning to be gripped once more by weakness, and the corners of his vision began to go black.  
  
He felt Beren shaking him, and faintly heard him shouting, "No Gorlim, don't leave yet. I want to help you. What is it that plagues you?"  
  
Gorlim only managed to force one words past his cracked lips. "Eilinel . . ."  
  
Then, his tormented spirit too immersed in grief to keep himself rooted in awareness, he was once again hurled into the dark vastness of unconsciousness.  
  
TBC 


	3. A Heart Completely Broken Remains in Pie...

I am so sorry for not updating soon! I've been gone on an orchestra trip for my school and only got back yesterday. Hopefully I will now be able to update more often, but with the due date of an English project coming up, who knows?  
  
Just in case you haven't already guessed, here's a warning for you: THIS IS NOT A HAPPY STORY! If you think it's too much now, it's only going to get worse.  
  
But for those of you who enjoy stories like this, enjoy!  
  
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Then he fled to Barahir, and of companions his he was the most fierce and desperate . . .  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
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When Gorlim awoke once more, he found himself alone. Beren was no longer sitting beside the cot, but the hum of men conversing floated in from the open flap of the tent.  
  
Gorlim lay for a moment, unable to move. He still felt rather dizzy, and he gripped his head firmly as he arose slowly from his reclining position. Noticing that he was in unfamiliar attire, most likely borrowed from one of the companions, he scanned the area inside the tent, and found his garments draped over a makeshift chair in the corner of the tent.  
  
Grasping the edge of the cot, Gorlim pulled himself to his feet. Though he swayed a bit at first, he soon found his balance and found also that he could walk without falling. As soon as he felt ready, he stumbled over to the chair. He grabbed his clothing, prepared to change out of his current garb, so as to not keep what was likely to be one of the only sets of clothing of whomever it was who offered their own to him.  
  
He then caught sight of the little silver bracelet lying atop the clothes.  
  
Immediately, just as it had before, the grief he felt for Eilinel rushed up in surge, ready to swallow him whole, and the lightheadedness forced his legs to buckle. He fell to the floor. But this time, instead of allowing his mind to be drawn into the dark void waiting for it, Gorlim closed his eyes tightly, forcing the dizziness away, and concentrated on retaining his hold on awareness.  
  
As a few minutes passed, so did some of the overwhelming sense of anguish. Soon, he was able to stand on shaky legs, and compel himself to walk out of the open flap of the tent.  
  
The moment he stepped out into the bright sun, the companions who were gathered there immediately halted their discussion, and turned their eyes to him. Gorlim, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of so many curious gazes, continued striding passed the group, his steps growing steadily stronger by the minute.  
  
It was not long before he discovered that another was following him. He turned around to find himself face to face with Beren, who was trying valiantly to hide his concern.  
  
"Are you alright, my friend?" He asked quietly.  
  
Gorlim faltered for a moment, and then took a deep breath. He finally replied, "Yes."  
  
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The next morning, Beren awoke to find Gorlim missing. Knowing the fragile state his friend was in, he hurried out as quickly as he could, fearing the worst. However, he was quick to find that nothing was wrong; or at least not that he could see at the moment.  
  
Gorlim stood still as stone beside the shores of Tarn Aeluin tossing stones haphazardly into the blue waters. His stance was slightly worrying to Beren, as it reminded him of how he would find Gorlim each morning before he had gone to try to visit his wife. Beren was not sure of what exactly had happened, but having seen his friend's reaction after waking, and after hearing Gorlim whisper his wife's name, he knew that something terrible had happened. However, Beren was reluctant to bring up the subject, for he feared what effect it might have on Gorlim. But now, Beren simply sought to comfort his friend, but to do so, would mean that he would have to know what it was that threw Gorlim nearly off the edge of insanity.  
  
He strode over to Gorlim's side, but if Gorlim noticed his presence, he did not acknowledge it. He simply continued scooping up stones from the banks and hurled them into the lake, causing ripples to disturb the stillness of the water as they hit the surface.  
  
Beren shuffled his feet nervously before saying, "Um . . . are you feeling any better, Gorlim?"  
  
Gorlim's face did not change, as he replied bluntly, "No."  
  
"Oh," Beren responded, slightly taken aback at the brusqueness of the statement. "May I inquire what it is that troubles you so?"  
  
Gorlim, halfway through throwing another stone into the lake, suddenly brought his arm all the way around so that the stone slammed into the ground. "My sleep was disturbed by nightmares, if you must know!"  
  
Beren decided to shrug off the sudden anger in his friend; he understood that Gorlim was going through a difficult time. "Perhaps it would make you feel better to confide in a friend what they were about?"  
  
Gorlim's hand hesitated before lifting another stone, as he replied, "I dreamed of Eilinel." He paused, but seeing that Beren would not leave him be until Gorlim told all, he continued. "I saw it again. Our house . . . destroyed, and . . . Eilinel . . . she was gone, you see." Gorlim sank down to the rocky ground, taking a deep breath. "I couldn't find her . . . not even her body. She was gone . . ."  
  
Gorlim's head dropped into his hands. Beren laid a friendly hand on his arm, about to offer some consolation, when Gorlim pulled suddenly away from his friend's touch. He stood, forcing vicious words through clenched teeth, "When I find out who took her . . ." The thought trailed off, but not before conveying the fierce message it carried. Gorlim spun around, and walked briskly back to the camp, leaving a dumbfounded Beren behind.  
  
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The twelve men of Barahir crept stealthily through the woods of Dorthonion, night shadows swirling about them. They were scouring the land to be rid of a wandering band of evil men that one of the companions, returning from scouting the area, told about. The evil men worked for Morgoth, and therefore posed a threat to Dorthonion, which the men sought to protect.  
  
There had been some controversy in Barahir's mind on whether or not to allow Gorlim to come along on the mission. His mental state was clearly unstable, and allowing him to take part in fighting may cause harm. However, leaving him behind could prove disastrous. Barahir did not want to leave him alone, and therefore would have had to leave another behind with him, but Barahir needed every fighter he could get, knowing that although they could handle the band of evil men, many other dangers could possibly befall them.  
  
Eventually, if Gorlim's condition did not improve, would he be forced to ask him to leave the group? No, he could not afford to have someone formally a part of his band wandering the woods of Dorthonion, not to mention one who was possessed a frail mind. The secret of Tarn Aeluin had to be protected.  
  
Suddenly, Barahir noticed that the shadows of the trees were growing darker around them, and were moving strangely coordinated . . .  
  
"AMBUSH!" He yelled, alerting his companions to the danger. They all dropped into fighting stance.  
  
Beren, drawing his sword in the blink of an eye, ducked under the swing of curved steel and proceeded to defend himself from his attacker. He did not enjoy taking lives, but it became clear that Barahir's men would not win without killing a few of the enemy. He brought his sword down on his adversary's, disarming him, and hoping that doing so would coerce him to admit his defeat. However, the evil man did not give up so easily, and immediately leapt on Beren, knocking him to the ground pummeling him with his fists. Beren threw him off, but when he saw that his foe was prepared to attack again, he was forced to run him through.  
  
Beren wiped sweat from his brow, and jumped to his feet, looking around for the rest of his companions, and ready to fight for them if need be. Though he saw that they were hard pressed, it was clear that the enemy did not expect such strength in so small a group. Many were fleeing, and others lay down their weapons.  
  
Like lightening, the thought of Gorlim slapped Beren in the face, and he quickly searched the area for his friend. For a moment, fear gripped Beren for Gorlim was nowhere to be seen.  
  
But then, Beren was relieved to spot him, apparently unharmed, but still fighting. Gorlim was advancing on a foe, cornering him against a rocky outcropping. The enemy, clearly seeing that he could not win this fight, dropped to his knees and threw down his sword, drawing his arms up over his face. Beren sighed, but his relief was short-lived.  
  
To Beren's utter shock and horror, Gorlim completely defied any morality he had ever had to his name. Gorlim grabbed the discarded rapier from the forest floor, and placed the point of both it and his own sword at the warrior's chest. Then, ever so slowly, he drove the blades into the man, smiling cruelly when shrill, pain-filled screams filled the air. When his adversary's screams died, and his body went limp, Gorlim pulled his own sword out, and wiped the bloody tip on the dead man's clothing.  
  
Leaning down, he whispered in the deaf ears, "That's the reward you receive for supporting the one who took Eilinel away from me."  
  
If he could have, Beren would have asked Gorlim if he knew for sure who had taken Eilinel, but the expression on Gorlim's face smothered any words before they could take form.  
  
TBC 


	4. Doubt

I am so sorry for not updating sooner! My muse went on vacation.  
  
Please, whoever is reading this story: I desperately need reviews. My muse leaves when it does not receive enough feedback, positive or negative! Please! You know you want to!  
  
Okay, enough rambling, and on with the story. Enjoy!  
  
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. . . but doubt gnawed his heart, thinking that perhaps Eilinel was not dead . . .  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
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Beren awoke the next morning to find Gorlim missing. In fact, he had not even seen him since the battle the previous day. Surprising himself, Beren found that he was almost thankful that his friend was gone. Gorlim's actions at the battle had shaken Beren deeply. He shuddered to even imagine what had to have been going through Gorlim's mind at that point.  
  
Because of this, Beren shrugged off his friend's disappearance. Gorlim was probably just seeking solitude somewhere to deal with his turmoil. Hopefully that solitude would be healing for him.  
  
However, unlike his son, Barahir was deeply suspicious of Gorlim's absence. Even the other companions seemed rather subdued that morning. But whatever doubts may have crossed their minds, they did not speak them.  
  
Morning faded into afternoon, and Barahir felt that he could not let this slip by. But just as he opened his mouth to speak, they heard a rustle from the forest, and Gorlim emerged from the trees, his steps making a crunching sound as he trudged through the carpet of leaves. His head drooped, eyes staring at his walking feet.  
  
Barahir quickly leapt from his spot at the fire, and strode to Gorlim's side. "Where have you been?" He made no attempt to hide the suspicion in his voice.  
  
For a moment, Gorlim appeared like a wolf trapped in a corner. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the look melted and the blank stare resumed. "Why should I tell you?" Gorlim muttered wearily, all emotion drained form his voice. "You should not delve too deeply into business that is not your own."  
  
Anger flared in Barahir's eyes, but Gorlim simply ignored him, stepping to the side and heading for the tents. His pride telling him to get the last word in, Barahir yelled after him, "Gorlim, you are acting like a child!"  
  
But Gorlim had already stepped into the tent, and was far beyond even caring.  
  
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Gorlim shifted restlessly in his bed. He could not sleep. Waiting for him beyond the confines of wakefulness, he knew, were the nightmares that haunted his sleep.  
  
Shaking off the covers, he rose hesitantly, knowing he shouldn't leave. 'But then again, Barahir is a fool,' he reminded himself.  
  
He knew where he desired to be. He knew what he desired to find.  
  
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Gorlim blinked away his weariness and forcing his heavy eyelids to remain open as he followed the light of the moon to the clearing where the remains of his house still stood. As the ruins came into sight, his feet slowed as tears came into his eyes.  
  
It was still the same. The tattered curtains had long ago been blown away by the winds, and the sagging wooden beams that had once been walls had further rotted, but it was still the same.  
  
It was the same because there was still no Eilinel.  
  
Cautiously moving forward, he gently moved aside the broken door that had been thrown across the entrance. He listened intently as he stepped through, but the only sounds that reached his ears were his own breathing and the songs of the birds outside. He scowled, feeling that the cheerfulness of the birds' melodies was solely meant to mock him.  
  
His sweeping gaze caught a glimpse of something moving in an adjacent room. Trying to stifle his rising hopes in fear of them once more being dashed, he immediately rushed in. The gleam in his eyes grew dull. Over on the wall on the far side of the room, was hung a ripped and stained quilt. The movement he had seen was only the billowing of the quilt as the breeze from the broken window lifted its corners.  
  
Gorlim knelt before the quilt, and looked up at it through the gathering moisture in his eyes. Its damage did not hide the meticulously sewn stitches and though the colors were faded, the warmth and care of the one who had made it could still be felt.  
  
At last, he felt he had to break the silence before it broke him. "Is it really so much to ask!?" he yelled, his fists clenching.  
  
Silence greeted his outburst. Tears now streamed freely from his eyes. "All I wish is to find my Eilinel!" he screamed. "Why did SHE deserve to be taken? There is not one blemish of evil in her entire being. She is a gift from the Valar, sent to this world to grace it! Why her? Why!? What foul creature brought this upon her?" His voice cracked. "I don't even know where she is! She could be suffering, taken captive, or injured! For all I know my Eilinel might even be dead . . . NO!" Suddenly his voice rose to a pain-filled shriek. "No! She is not dead! She can't be! I'd know if she was! I would! I know I would! She's still alive! And I vow that we will be together again one day! All I want is my Eilinel back!"  
  
His voice hoarse, he halted his flow of emotion, taking deep breaths. Then he added softly, "And I love her so much . . ."  
  
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"How dare you endanger the lives of your companions like that!" Barahir's face was contorted by anger, but Gorlim met his glare unflinchingly.  
  
"I doubt one man being absent brought much danger."  
  
Barahir looked for a moment like he was going to explode, and then shook his head. "Gorlim, you do not understand. My job here, my duty, is to protect Dorthonion, and keep us all alive. I can't have you leaving whenever you feel like it, running off to who knows where!"  
  
Beren, awakened by all of the commotion, ducked his head out of the tent, puzzlement written on his face. He immediately saw the situation and hurried out, but if either man noticed him, they did not show it.  
  
Gorlim narrowed his eyes, but Barahir did not let him get a single word in.  
  
"Don't you care about your companions? How would you like it if your actions brought harm or even death to your friends!?"  
  
Making himself known, Beren put a hand on Barahir's shoulder and pulled him back a little. "Father, of course he does. It's just that . . ."  
  
"Just what, Beren?" Barahir turned to his son. "Don't stand up for Gorlim just now. He needs to answer for himself."  
  
"I do, sir?" Gorlim asked, raising his eyebrows. "I don't believe I should have to answer anything."  
  
If Beren had thought his father was angry before, he would have run at the look in his eyes after this.  
  
"Oh you DON'T do you?" Barahir practically spat at Gorlim, all trace of patience completely spent. "Answer this Gorlim: Why do you think I am even considering allowing you to stay with us?"  
  
For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Gorlim's face, but he still refused to answer.  
  
Barahir sighed, releasing some of the rage that had gripped him, and now his expression was odd mixture of fury, weariness, and regret. "Gorlim, you know that it is unsafe for someone from our group to wander alone in Dorthonion. It is unsafe for them, and it is unsafe for the rest of us, because of the increased chance of someone discovering our refuge."  
  
Both Gorlim and Beren gave their leader a confused look. They had heard this before; it was nothing new.  
  
"The trouble is, Gorlim," Barahir continued, "You shouldn't be in our group anymore. You don't obey me, or our code. You endanger us by leaving and you do not tell us where you go." Now came the sting. "But it would be worse to let you leave. I can't let anyone who knows our location to depart, let alone one who cannot completely remain sane."  
  
Beren was shocked that his father could even speak it, yet he knew that it was true. He glanced sideways at Gorlim, afraid of his reaction, Gorlim stood silent, as if he had not heard anything.  
  
Just as the silence seemed to grow too long, Gorlim met Barahir's eyes, and then turned his back. Before Barahir could question him, he spun around and punched his leader in the face.  
  
He sprinted away to the forest.  
  
*******************************************  
  
Thunder rumbled overhead, and rain mixed with tears and Gorlim ran, heedless of all save his grief and his fatigue. He had been running for hours, wanting nothing more than to get as far away as possible from the people he had once called friends.  
  
He knew of only one other place to go.  
  
He collapsed as he reached the edge of the woods, his face pressed into the mud. Finally, he raised his eyes to the house, but not 'his' house. It was not his. It was only his when he had shared it with the one he loved, but he no longer had any hope for that.  
  
But as he raised his eyes to ruins, he saw a faint light emanating from the shattered glass of a window.  
  
TBC 


	5. Lament of the Forsaken

I'm back finally, thanks to the encouragement of loveofthering. Yes, it does get frustrating when it seems like you are writing something for nobody, but I shouldn't let that get me down! And don't worry; I would never leave a story unfinished, even if it hadn't been reviewed by anyone. The story line would still be playing inside of my head, and it would eat me alive! (Not literally!)  
  
This chapter is going to be a lot shorter, but mostly because it is centered on one very pivotal event. (Have I gotten you intrigued yet?)  
  
Enjoy!  
  
************************************************  
  
At times he would depart alone and secretly, and visit his house that stood amid the fields and woods he had once possessed; and this became known to the servants of Morgoth . . .  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
************************************************  
  
Like a candle shattering the starless black cover of night, the glow from some unknown source within the derelict house beckoned to Gorlim. Despite the tiny voice inside of him whispering a warning, Gorlim cautiously crept up to the side of the house. He had seen no signs of anyone anywhere nearby this once-familiar place since his love had been taken. Perhaps it housed his love once more? Had his Eilinel come back!?  
  
The closer Gorlim came to the window, the more ethereal the world became. The radiant brightness cast shadows across the ground, which grew larger by the second, and began to twist and flutter across the still grass. The silence became palpable, and hung in the air like a think fog. But Gorlim was unaware of it all. His entire mind was centered on the warm rays of light, as if from the sun itself, beaming through the broken window.  
  
Suddenly, Gorlim was aware of a sound. He strained his ears to listen. It almost sounded like someone weeping. It was! Someone was inside his former home, weeping. Before Gorlim could react to this new realization, whoever it was broke free from their heart-wrenching sobs, and cried out despair-filled words.  
  
"Gorlim! Where in all this world could you be?"  
  
His heart skipped a beat. He would know that beautiful voice anywhere! Gorlim knew exactly who it was; he would bet his life on it if had to!  
  
He sprinted the remaining yards, and sprang up to the window, gripping the windowsills tightly, and peering in with hope-filled eyes. Yes! There she was! It was his Eilinel! She was sitting in her favorite chair, with her warm quilt spread over her lap, her sleek red hair falling in waves about her shoulders. Thank the Valar! His wife was alive!  
  
But just as Gorlim was about to open his mouth and announce his presence to his darling by shouting aloud his eternal joy, he realized that something was wrong. Very wrong.  
  
He took another, closer, look at Eilinel. She was sitting in her favorite chair, but she had pulled her legs up, hugging her knees to her chest like a frightened child. Her sleek red hair, sleek no longer but now coated with muck and dirt, lay in tangles over most of her face, hiding her sky blue eyes. Her dress was in tatters, and her delicate shoulders were wracked with sobs.  
  
Gorlim couldn't speak. Eilinel had always been full of joy; a light in a world filled with darkness. What had happened to her?  
  
Suddenly Eilinel bowed her head, holding it in her hands, and began to speak. "Gorlim. Where did you go?"  
  
She sounded so hurt that it would have torn his heart out if it weren't already gone. Although he wanted to go in there and reassure his love that he was here and would never leave her side again, Gorlim found that he couldn't speak. It was as if his tongue had been glued to the top of his mouth.  
  
His desperate angel spoke again. "Gorlim, why have you forsaken me?"  
  
This time, the now discernable tint of anger in her voice tighten Gorlim's throat to the point of severe pain. How could his love believe that? He loved her with all his being! He hadn't forsaken her! Had he?  
  
Eilinel's moaning tears increased in intensity, as if she sensed Gorlim's doubt. "How could you have left me to those monsters?" She spoke with vehemence. "They came and took me away. They could have killed me! But where were you? Off with your soldier buddies as always. You couldn't even find time to be with the woman you loved!" Her voice gradually grew louder, and by the time she had finished speaking, she was shouting the cruel words through her pain.  
  
Gorlim watched through the window, too shocked to react. What was she saying? Surely she knew of the importance of Barahir's men to the safety of Dorthonion! Didn't she? He had tried so very hard to serve his land and be with his wife, but it had been so hard. Maybe he hadn't tried hard enough.  
  
Gorlim felt tears of his own form little rivers on his cheeks. He didn't think it could get any worse, until the next few words that his Eilinel whispered past her dry lips.  
  
"He didn't care at all. I don't think he ever even loved me."  
  
Gorlim's legs turned to jelly, refusing to support him, and he sat down hard on the ground.  
  
He had always loved her. He had devoted his entire life to her.  
  
Why was she saying these things? Didn't she know that he loved her?  
  
She obviously didn't. Why was she blaming her capture on him?  
  
Maybe she was right. Maybe he HAD failed her.  
  
Maybe he hadn't done all he could.  
  
He was a failure.  
  
"NO!" Gorlim suddenly shrieked, pushing himself back up to his feet. "Eilinel, no! I do love you! I . . ."  
  
He was cut off as a sudden gust of wind blew through the window and extinguished the light, hiding his wife from his view. He began to call out to her, when the entire area around him was suddenly filled with the mournful howling of wolves. They echoed through the trees, swirling around him like ghostly apparitions.  
  
"Eilinel!" He screamed, trying to get her attention. He was not going to let her be taken from him again. Even if this was where they were going to die, he had to tell her that he loved her. "Eilinel!" He shouted again, and he prepared to jump through the window after her.  
  
But heavy hands grabbed his shoulders, dragging him away from the window, and throwing him violently to the ground as he continued screaming the name of the woman he loved, and dreaded to lose.  
  
TBC 


	6. Painful Choice

Hello! Here I am, updating sooner than usual. I was actually considering being cruel, and waiting over a week to update again because of the nasty cliffhanger I ended with. I guess I thought I would have achieved some sort of victory, getting back at someone for all the times I've been left at a nasty cliffhanger by other authors. Oh well, I couldn't very well leave the story for too long now. It's getting good!  
  
Thank you to anyone who reviewed! Namely: loveofthering, Sigil, racavende18, and purple-sorceress. I really appreciate reviews. They're my sustenance for life. (As you've probably already guessed, I don't really have a life. It is ruled by fanfiction and LOTR craziness.)  
  
This chapter's going to be a bit longer than the last one. And the next chapter will be the last one! If anyone has stuck with it this far, and didn't heed my warnings in earlier chapters, here's another one: If you're looking for a happy joy-filled story, TURN BACK NOW! That is all.  
  
I hope you enjoy! I had fun with names in this chapter! Please read and REVIEW!  
  
*************************************************  
  
On a time of autumn he came in the dusk of evening, and drawing near he saw as he thought a light at the window; and coming warily he looked within. There he saw Eilinel, and her face was worn with grief and hunger, and it seemed to him that he heard her voice lamenting that he had forsaken her. But even as he cried aloud the light was blown out in the wind; wolves howled, and on his shoulders he felt suddenly the heavy hands of Sauron's hunters . . .  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
*************************************************  
  
"NO! EILINEL!" The screams tore from Gorlim's throat as he was slammed the ground by an enemy hidden in the black night. He continued to struggle, flailing his limbs in every direction, but his attackers held him firmly down, putting such weight on his chest that Gorlim's screams were soon replaced by shallow gasps for air.  
  
Just when he thought his ribs would snap from the pressure, the force was lifted. Sensing his chance, he attempted to jump to his feet and make a run for it, but soon realized that his wrists and ankles were firmly tied with thick rope. He only got as far as a few clumsy jumps would take him, before he fell heavily to the ground, getting a mouthful of wet dirt, and hearing raspy laughter reverberate around him.  
  
"I was expecting one of Barahir's fighters to . . ." the gravelly voice broke off into more laughter, and then added " . . . put up more of a fight!"  
  
Brutal hands grasped Gorlim's shoulders, and flipped him roughly over to face him. By this time, one of the attackers had lit a torch, revealing to Gorlim who had captured him.  
  
The first thing he saw, was the revolting face of an orc, complete with bloodshot eyes and yellowed fangs, only inches from his own face. He turned his head to the side, trying in vain to escape the foul breath, but the orc grabbed his chin and forced him back to being eye to eye with the creature.  
  
"What's wrong with you?" the orc sniggered. "You don't like the look of my pretty face?"  
  
Roars of laughter greeted this comment, and Gorlim looked past the orc's face only to see . . .  
  
At least a hundred more orcs had him surrounded.  
  
One of them, obviously the leader, broke free form the circle and approached the original orc, still laughing and clawing at Gorlim. "Hey! Ragdush!" He snarled. "Stop playin' with it! This one's not a toy!"  
  
Ragdush's face twisted into a snarl, and releasing Gorlim, he stood facing the other orc. "Bah!" He spat. "You, Gardug, are no fun. I wasn't hurtin' him!"  
  
He broke off as Gardug shoved him out of the way and knelt beside Gorlim, a disconcerting smile growing when he saw the fear in the man's eyes.  
  
He extended one fully clawed finger, dragging it down Gorlim's cheek, cutting a deep, bloody gash. Gorlim barely flinched, trying as hard as he could to not show his despair, but Gardug saw it anyway.  
  
"Now then," the orc said suddenly, ripping his bloodied claw from Gorlim's skin, ignoring Gorlim's slight grunt of pain. "I will give you a choice." He smiled his wicked smile once more. "The Master sent us to find out where that coward, Barahir, was hidin' out." He motioned for two more orcs to lift Gorlim, raising him up so that his eyes were almost level with the other's.  
  
"You," he continued. "Were all too easy to find." Gardug waved to the house. "Yes, very predictable for one of the supposed, 'protectors of Dorthonion.' You rats would not be able to protect a fortified city from a band of robbers, let alone a forsaken patch of dirt from the almighty Dark Lord!" He raised his foot and kicked Gorlim in the stomach. The poor man, unable to dodge the blow, gasped weakly as all the air in his lungs was knocked out of him. "You are weak!" The orc sneered. "The only reason I have not killed ya right out, is the Master has a plan for you.  
  
"The choice ya have," the orc said evilly, "Is whether ya want to tell us what we want to know, or whether ya want us to get the information from ya." Gardug gestured to the army of orcs around him. "Yes, telling us straight out would be quickest, but the boys haven't had some fun in a while. It would be awful kind of ya to put up a good struggle for them."  
  
Gorlim felt his last bit of hope drain form his heart. He couldn't tell them about Tarn Aeluin . . . he couldn't . . . he couldn't . . . he couldn't . . . and Eilinel was still in there. Eilinel! Had the orcs caught her too! Not again! Gorlim closed his eyes, silently praying that she had escaped.  
  
Gardug noticed the conflicting emotions playing across Gorlim's features. Again, he signaled to the two orcs, having them tie their prisoner to a nearby tree. This time, Gorlim was too weak from the anguish tearing at his heart to resist. Soon, he was bound tightly to the tree truck.  
  
"So," Gardug said finally. "What do ya want? Tell us, or tell us to make ya tell us. Your choice."  
  
Gorlim shot a gaze of pure hatred into Gardug's eyes, hiding the weak resolve behind. "Where is my wife?"  
  
Whatever Gardug had been expecting, this wasn't it. "What? Your wife?" After a brief pause, he slapped Gorlim across the face.  
  
The blow knocked Gorlim so hard that stars flew before his eyes. The world tilted sickeningly, and he fixed his gaze on a rock beneath him, trying to focus himself.  
  
With Gorlim distracted, Gardug shared a slightly confused glance with some of the other orcs. By the time Gorlim once again looked up with a welt forming on his face, Gardug wore a viciously determined expression once more. Pulling a long whip from his belt, he raised it, preparing to strike. But watching as Gorlim cringed, Gardug never let the whip fall.  
  
"Your wife," Gardug muttered, "is already being taken to Sauron's dungeons."  
  
A look of horror swelled in the man's eyes.  
  
"Yes," Gardug added. "But we could bring her back here to ya . . . for a price."  
  
"Name it." Gorlim demanded, almost before the orc finished speaking.  
  
"Where are Barahir's fighters hidin'? Tell us this, and we will take you to your wife and set you free."  
  
Gorlim's breath caught in his throat. Could he betray his companions? But if he did, he could be set free with his Eilinel! They could live together for the rest of their lives! They wouldn't have to worry about Barahir breathing down their necks about the group's safety! The group would be . . .  
  
Dead.  
  
All of them.  
  
His stomach tightening, he continued to run the decision through his mind over and over. Gorlim shook his head, trying to dispel the nauseous feeling beginning to develop.  
  
He didn't notice the orcs, getting impatient, and saw, too late, the whip flying towards his unprotected chest.  
  
His shrill screams were too loud for the crack of the whip to be heard. But he too plainly, felt the blood trickling down his chest and, too clearly, heard the orcs' cheers that accompanied his torment.  
  
"Oh, Eilinel," Gorlim murmured hoarsely. "What should I do?"  
  
"What did ya say, there?" Gardug asked, with malicious amusement. "Ya want more?"  
  
The whip cracked again, but this time, Gorlim was ready. Biting his lip so hard it bled, he bore the pain in silence, determined not to give the orcs a shred of pleasure if he could manage it. Fiery agony consumed him as the whip cracked a third time, and a fourth, until he was covered in criss- crosses of flame-red marks.  
  
Through the droning roar that now filled his ears, Gorlim almost couldn't hear Gardug when he spoke again. "My thanks for the entertainment!" The orc laughed. Gorlim, trying to suppress his trembling, raised his head, and tried to glare at the hateful creature through a mixture of sweat and salty tears.  
  
Gardug raised an eyebrow. "What? You just gonna stare? Ya gave us our sport, now get on with it!"  
  
Gorlim forced himself not to answer.  
  
"So," replied Gardug, getting dangerously angry. "Ya not gonna talk?" He pulled a small dagger from its sheath, and held the razor-sharp edge to the side of Gorlim's throat. "We have ways of makin' ya talk."  
  
Gorlim swallowed nervously, taking into account the cool steel less than a centimeter of taking his life.  
  
"You will tell us," growled the orc, "Or we will take ya to our Master and you will tell him."  
  
Gorlim shuddered, closed his eyes, and whispered softly, "I'm sorry Eilinel."  
  
Seeing that the man would not talk, Gardug withdrew the dagger. Gorlim did not even get the chance to breath a slight sigh of relief, when he saw the dagger hurtling through the air towards him. It embedded itself into the wood of the tree right beside his head.  
  
"So," Gardug said with a deadly undertone. "You have chosen for your dear wife to spend the rest of her years rotting in the dungeons. You've saved your friends for now, but our Master will get them soon."  
  
Gorlim moaned. "I'm sorry Eilinel." He repeated feverishly. "I'm sorry."  
  
Gardug motioned for him to be removed from the tree. "Be prepared to meet your doom!" The orc snickered. "Cause we're takin' ya to our Master, Sauron the Great!"  
  
TBC 


	7. Betrayal

Hello! Again, I am sorry that I haven't updated soon. But first there was my English paper, and then ff.net wasn't working, and then school finals . . . yeah, I've had a busy couple of weeks.  
  
I've decided that this might not be the final chapter. A rabid plot bunny attacked me, giving me an idea for a sort of Epilogue chapter. I'm not sure if I'll follow through on it. Tell me if you think I should.  
  
The rabid plot bunny also brought a lot of his friends. I now have a lot of ideas for new stories. I have a sequel for His Rose in mind, as well another overlooked Silmarillion story. I'll be busy writing for a while, I think.  
  
I wanted to thank the people who have been really encouraging throughout this story. They include Sigil (Go read her stories! Especially Kinsinger and Kinhunter! Go read them!), racavende18, and loveofthering. As this story is not very happy, it's been kind of difficult to write. These people were really encouraging and I'm not sure the story would have turned out as well without them.  
  
Well, on to the final, (or not so final) chapter! I just want to warn you, this is the most morbid chapter of all. If you don't like that, turn back now. If you do, enjoy!  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Thus, Gorlim was ensnared; and taking him to their camp, they tormented him, seeking to learn the tidings of Barahir and all his ways. But nothing would Gorlim tell . . .  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Gorlim awoke to darkness.  
  
Too weary to open his eyes even the slightest, he simply reached out to the feeling in his limbs, to find himself sprawled on a smooth floor. Smooth? Where was he? What had happened? He could not even remember leaving the world of wakefulness. The last he recalled, he had been in the hateful clutches of orcs. Where was he now? Where were they?  
  
Now, as he slowly drifted back, so also did the pains from his beatings. His chest, pressed as it was onto the hard floor, burned from the flaying it had taken from Gardug's whip. He tried to shift himself and lessen the pressure on his open wounds, but other bruises and hurts screamed in agony, until he simply let himself flop limply back down.  
  
Breathing hard from the effort, he soon discovered that the air was curiously difficult to breath. It was thick and heavy, almost as if it was some sort of smoke or fume. Yet it did not sear his lungs when he inhaled. Although, he did notice that it made him dizzyingly lightheaded, resulting in an unexplainable feeling of . . . emptiness. Again, he asked himself the question: Where was he? Finally, he opened his eyes.  
  
He saw darkness.  
  
He saw a darkness that was nothing.  
  
It was an impenetrable darkness.  
  
He could not even tell where the strange stone floor on which he lay met the thick air.  
  
It was all dark, all empty.  
  
The empty feeling in his heart deepened uneasily.  
  
(Welcome.)  
  
The word floated into Gorlim's mind unbidden. Where did that come from? He hadn't heard it . . . not with his ears anyway. It just . . . came, and his mind told him someone had spoken. Was he imagining he heard voices? Gorlim parted his chapped lips and called out softly.  
  
"Who's there?"  
  
No one answered.  
  
Gorlim curled himself up, shuddering nervously. He wasn't alone in this strange place. He knew it. Somewhere, in this leaden blackness, someone was there. He could feel eyes peering through the shadow, regarding him with a predator's gaze.  
  
(Get up.)  
  
Again, the words appeared in Gorlim's mind, and this time he could feel them formulating at another's will. Someone was speaking to him through his mind. Gorlim could "hear" the words meant to be spoken, but he could not discern any voice that spoke them. Nothing could he determine from the words. Except for the fact that they were directed at him with scornful contempt.  
  
Unwilling to anger this, as yet unknown, other being in the darkness, Gorlim once again tried to pull himself up from his position on the cold floor. This time, with more of an incentive to drive him, he succeeded.  
  
"Who are you?" Gorlim called out uneasily, straining his eyes uselessly into the darkness.  
  
(I am shocked that thou dost not already know.)  
  
Confused, Gorlim almost inquired what he meant by this, but then stopped suddenly. Remembrance of Gardug's final statement slammed into him. 'Our Master, Sauron the Great.' A new horror built up inside.  
  
(Yes.) The words came in response to his thoughts. (Welcome to Tol-in- Gaurhoth.)  
  
Gorlim gasped heavily, trying hard not to fall unconscious once more, and shivering uncontrollably. So that's where he was. The fortress of Tol-in- Gaurhoth, the Isle of Werewolves.  
  
(I hear that thou wouldst barter with me.)  
  
Gorlim did not respond. He was still trying to quell the sudden chill that had frozen his nerves.  
  
(That is what I've been told, but perhaps I may be mistaken. What dost thou have to say?)  
  
Still, Gorlim did not break the silence of the darkness.  
  
(I have spared thy life, and not one word dost thou send from thy lips!) An undertone of irritated impatience could now be detected. (I ask again! Wouldst thou . . .)  
  
"I . . . I would not." Gorlim spoke weakly, interrupting the flow of words.  
  
(Art thou without doubt? Thou canst veil the tremor in thy voice.)  
  
Gorlim sighed dejectedly. 'No,' he thought to himself, no longer concerned with the fact that all his thoughts were open to the other. 'I suppose I cannot.' Refusing defeat, Gorlim straightened himself up, and stated more firmly, "I would not barter with you."  
  
(Thou hast courage to speak so. Yet, I must wonder if thou art aware of the consequences of thy decision? Thou must know that thy own life hangs in the balance as well.)  
  
Gorlim shook his head. "I know now that it is unlikely that I will escape with my life at all."  
  
(Indeed.) The other seemed surprised at his prisoner's control. (Thy own life, as well as the lives of thy companions and thy beloved. That is what troubles thou so. Am I wrong? Such a choice thou hast to make. Thou hast been awarded my pity. Pity is a weakness you don't often find in one as myself.)  
  
Gorlim bit his lower lip disgustedly. He could not deny what the other was saying. The choice between his friends and his wife tore at him from the inside, eating its way through him like an acid. If only there were some way . . .  
  
"What would it take," Gorlim began hesitantly, "to alter the choice?" No words formed in his head for a moment. Then they came back full force with a new tone of disdain.  
  
(Thou wouldst wish for me to alter thy choice? Thou wouldst flee from the path that has been laid before thy feet? Thou art more a coward than I first perceived.)  
  
"Why not just kill me?" Gorlim shouted suddenly and desperately. "Kill me, a warrior of Dorthonion which your Lord ordered you to kill! Destroy me, and release my wife, who is of no value to you."  
  
Any hopes for his wife were dashed at the sense of silent mirth coming from the other. (Thy wife is of value to me, for thou art of value to me. Thou art the key to opening Dorthonion to the rule of Lord Morgoth. Thou art a fool to think even for a moment that I would destroy the key that leads to the other eleven of thy companions.)  
  
Gorlim's frustration rose in a black surge of anger ready to swallow him whole. In a mocking tone he replied, "Are you so weak that it takes someone like me to destroy a small band of men? I would have thought that someone held so high in your Lord's regard . . ."  
  
He was cut off as a sudden blast of strength crushed him back to the floor. So great was the force, that upon being thrown to the stone floor, he felt ribs snap in his chest. Gasping, he tried to regain his breath. Through the murky haze of anguish clouding his mind, Gorlim sensed the other hurling savage words at him.  
  
(Hold thy tongue! Lest thy insolence leads to the end of my temper!)  
  
Somehow, Gorlim found the strength to retort, "And what would happened then? Would you kill your key?"  
  
Even though his eyes could not pierce the darkness, Gorlim could still imagine the smug expression on the other's face. (A battered key will still fit the lock.)  
  
Once again, the blast of intense power rammed him down. His only thought was a prayer for it to stop. Heedless of his agonized cries, it went on, seeming to be never-ending. Finally, when it let up, Gorlim was left collapsed on the smooth stone floor, groaning softly. 'I can't let my heart rule my head.' Gorlim told himself. 'No matter how much I love Eilinel, she cannot compare to the many lives that would be lost if Dorthonion were taken.' Steeling his resolve, Gorlim glared into the darkness, regardless of the fact that he had no idea which way to direct his gaze. He spoke fiercely. "I will tell you nothing!"  
  
(I wonder what thy wife would say were she in thy place, and thou in hers?)  
  
Gorlim shut his eyes tightly, refusing to let the words weaken his tenacity. "You try to use my feelings against me!"  
  
(Dost thou think thy heart can resist?)  
  
Gorlim faltered. What if the words spoke true? Was his love for Eilinel was too great, that any refusal of that love was vain? In this instant that Gorlim doubted, his enemy seized his chance. That instant was all that was needed.  
  
The silence of the darkness was broken by the sound of familiar weeping. Gorlim lifted his head. There! A light appeared in the darkness, like a beacon drawing his gaze. But that light illuminated something that broke the last shreds of defenses that Gorlim had built around himself.  
  
There chained to the floor, was Eilinel. She lay on her stomach on the cold floor, her hair hiding her face like ragged curtains. She trembled, moaning in pain, for blood created little rivulets on her arms and hands, splayed out on the stone.  
  
A cry wrenched itself from Gorlim's throat. "EILINEL!" With great effort, he lifted himself up to feet, intending to run over to his beloved. However, he managed only two steps before his strength gave out and he collapsed brokenly.  
  
(Thou art letting thy emotions get the better of thee.)  
  
Gorlim snarled viciously at that hated voice. "Free my wife at once!"  
  
(Thou art forgetting the bargain.)  
  
"I don't care!" Gorlim screamed frantically, any evidence of control completely vanished. "Let her go! Take my life instead!"  
  
(My dear human, have we not already had this discussion?)  
  
Just as Gorlim was once more going to grate his voice on useless pleas, Eilinel whimpered loudly and called out in tormented suffering, "GORLIM!" The cry burned into Gorlim's heart. He clenched his fists in despair.  
  
(She calls thy name. Wilt thou go to her, or to thy untrusting companions?)  
  
Tears streamed out of Gorlim's eyes, like water leaking from a breaking dam.  
  
(Only one thing must thou say, and then thou may go to thy wife.)  
  
Sobs wracked his shoulders. There was no rationality left. Through clenched teeth, Gorlim whispered, "Can I have your word on that?"  
  
(Thou hast my word, on my honor.) If Gorlim had been more coherent, he would have noticed the predatory satisfaction accompanying the voice. (I may be thy enemy, but I would not go back on my word. What is thy price?)  
  
"That I should be with Eilinel again and with her be set free." Gorlim answered without hesitation.  
  
(That is a small price for so great a treachery. So shall it surely be. Say on!)  
  
Gorlim took a deep breath. He wanted nothing more than to have his Eilinel in his arms once more. Delaying no longer, Gorlim let the fateful words pass his lips. "You will find the warriors of Barahir . . . at Tarn Aeluin."  
  
A sudden laugh ripped through his thoughts. (I give to thee my thanks! Many have been harder to break!)  
  
Taking no thought to the last remark, Gorlim yelled angrily, "You said you would keep your word! Let me go to my wife!"  
  
The laugh took on a wicked manner. "Thou art a fool! Thy wife is already dead!"  
  
Gorlim felt the words stab him in the heart.  
  
His voice shaking with uncertainty, Gorlim shot back at the hateful voice, "No! That's not true! I've seen her!"  
  
(You mean this creature here?) Gorlim's eyes were drawn back to the bloodied figure chained to the floor. In his innermost thoughts, he began to see his fault. (She is naught but a phantom devised for thy deception!)  
  
"No . . ." Gorlim moaned hoarsely, shaking his head. "No . . ." he repeated, refusing to believe what the other so cruelly told him.  
  
His Eilinel was dead.  
  
He had been tricked.  
  
He had doomed his friends.  
  
All was lost.  
  
As the despairing emotions reared up, threatening to drown his wretched soul, his enemy laughed once more. (Nonetheless, I will grant thy prayer, and thou shalt go to Eilinel and be set free of my service.)  
  
Before Gorlim could react, he felt a cold and excruciating pain pierce his stomach. Looking down, he could see a long, rusted sword stabbed into his midsection. His gaze followed the blade . . . to the hilt . . . to a bloodied hand . . .  
  
And then into the face of his doom.  
  
Frozen and expressionless, was the face of the phantom. Yet, it pained Gorlim more than the sword that had cut into him to see the semblance of his fair Eilinel. Only one thing was different. Her eyes were not the clear blue of a summer sky. They were black.  
  
They were darkness.  
  
A darkness that held nothing.  
  
With one swift pull, the phantom tugged the blade from his body. The sudden agony seeped through his veins, snapping the cord that held him to life. Gorlim fell forward, onto the cold, stone floor. His body slowly faded into numbness. The emptiness inside him flared up, engulfing him.  
  
He felt the darkness reaching up to take him.  
  
He felt the darkness all around him.  
  
Gorlim became the darkness.  
  
**************************************************  
  
Then, straightway they brought him to presence of Sauron . . .  
  
And being at last worn with pain and yearning for his wife, he faltered . . .  
  
Then Sauron laughed; and he mocked Gorlim . . .  
  
Then he put him cruelly to death.  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien)  
  
**************************************************  
  
The End. 


	8. Epilogue: Dreams

Hello everyone! Yes, I have finally gotten the epilogue up, but don't think it has a concluding ending. I found while I was writing it, that if I went any farther, I would be talking more about Beren, then of my original intent to focus on Gorlim. But the plot bunny had already attacked, so I had to write this little extra thing.  
  
I hope you enjoy!  
  
**************************************************  
  
Hushed whispers were carried along the wind through the leaves and grasses of Dorthonion. They continued their wistful journey down and over the Barahir's camp, going all but ignored by Barahir's eleven men there. Next, the wind took the whispers across the blue of the Tarn Aeluin, leaving nothing but rippled wakes behind. It was a distance beyond the opposite side of the lake, where the whispers blew past the twelfth member of the group.  
  
Beren, son of Barahir.  
  
He trudged through the undergrowth, occasionally brushing aside a stray branch. He remained cautious, alert eyes scanning the terrain thoroughly before taking even one more step. It was a crucial thing, being wary and vigilant. Who knew what could be going on in Dorthonion since Gorlim left?  
  
The group had been uneasy since the departure of their companion and friend. Everyone was caught between emotions. In some way, some were fearful for their lost friend. Others had become nervous, for none knew how Gorlim's might affect the safety of their hideaway. Still others had now developed a bitter hatred for Gorlim, scorning his name whenever it was spoken.  
  
Barahir's first priority was the safety of the group. Early that morning, he had sent his son off to scout the area, and see what he could discover of the enemy's movements. It was hard for him, Beren knew. The decision of how best to protect the group, and yet at the same time Dorthonion. Beren's mind told him that his father had chosen correctly, to keep the group at Tarn Aeluin.  
  
Though somewhere deep in his heart, wondered if maybe it would have been wiser to flee.  
  
Darkness was falling, and Beren was tiring. Searching, he discovered a small hollow in the bank beside the lake. Hiding in there, he slept lightly; enough to recover his strength, but light enough that the slightest sound would wake him.  
  
Beren slept, and he dreamed . . . .  
  
In his dream, he found himself back at the camp. He looked around to find his companions, but they were nowhere to be found. The place was empty.  
  
He felt something touch his cheek and looked up. It had begun to rain. Then Beren felt an uneasy feeling stirring. The sky didn't seem to be pouring the rain the way it should. Instead, it seemed to bleed the rain, drop by drop, as if the raindrops were literally squeezed out of the clouds. Listening closely with more than his ears, Beren could almost hear moans and grieving sighs.  
  
Thoroughly frightened, he began to run to the water. Tarn Aeluin was hallowed! How could such sorrow and evil come to this place?  
  
A few steps away from the edge, he halted, a startled expression on his face. He saw Gorlim.  
  
Beren's jaw dropped slightly. Gorlim's form was hovering a few inches above the water, wavering slightly as though seen through heat waves. But what had fully brought Beren to a stop, was the stabbing pain in his friend's eyes.  
  
"Beren," Gorlim began to speak, seeming to force the words out through trembling lips. "Beren, go back."  
  
"Gorlim, what happened? Why are you here?" Beren walked forward until he was waist deep in the swirling water. "Gorlim?"  
  
Gorlim's eyes hardened. "Listen to me Beren!" He spoke harshly. "Go back! Take your father and your companions and flee!"  
  
The rain increased, splashing into the lake with such intensity that the water almost seemed to be boiling. Still, Beren did not move.  
  
"Gorlim! Tell me what's going on!" He pleaded.  
  
The pain came back into Gorlim's eyes. "I have betrayed you all." He whispered.  
  
Before Beren could reply, a flock of carrion birds burst out from the water, croaking loudly and throwing the water about with even greater force. Beren could still hear Gorlim, shouting now, to be heard over the carrion birds.  
  
"FLEE! GO, BEREN! WARN YOUR FATHER! GO!"  
  
*****************************************************  
  
Beren woke with a start, his heart pounding.  
  
Gorlim's words rung in his ears.  
  
He immediately got to his feet, and ran as fast as he could back to the camp. As he ran, it began to rain.  
  
The first thing he saw when he finally returned to camp on the second morning was the carrion birds.  
  
Then he saw the bodies. The corpses of his friends, lying on the ground in pools of blood.  
  
At last, he found his father's broken body, eyes open and staring at the sky in frozen agony. Beren closed them, and then saw that Barahir's hand had been cut off. It was the hand that had the Ring of Felagund.  
  
Beren swore an oath of vengeance, and began after the orcs, following their tracks into the now dark, forbidding trees of Dorthonion.  
  
*****************************************************  
  
First there for he pursued the Orcs that had slain his father and his kinsmen, and he found their camp by night at Rivil's Well above the Fen of Serech, and because of his wood craft he came near to their fire unseen. There their captain made boast of his deeds, and he held up the hand of Barahir that he had cut off as a token for Sauron that their mission was fulfilled; and the ring of Felagund was on that hand. Then Beren sprang from behind rock, and slew captain, and taking the hand and the ring he escaped, being defended by fate for the Orcs were dismayed, and their arrows wild.  
  
(Silmarillion, Of Beren and Luthien.)  
  
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End file.
